Anno Mundi
by halliejustine
Summary: Harper Winchester has finally pissed off her dad enough to get sent packing back to Forks, Washington.  Now she's got a chance at a real life, and that means no drinking, fighting, or casual sex - crap.  And what's with all these freaking angels?
1. i: lion's teeth

**Rating:** M

**Warnings:** Child neglect, alcoholism, mention of underage sexual activity and abortions, copious cursing, bad role models, casual dismissal of vegetarianism.

**Summary:** Harper Winchester has finally pissed off her dad enough to get sent packing - back to Forks, Washington. Now she's got a chance at a real life, as long as she keeps her uncle happy, and that means no drinking, fighting, or casual sex - harder than it sounds, frankly. And what's with all these stupid angels?

**ANNO MUNDI**

Forks sucks. I'd burn it to the ground if I could, never mind the ensuing death and destruction and forest fires.

And now I will die here. Fuckity fuck fuck fuckers. How do I do this? How do I keep moving forward, watching my death move towards me? I don't want to die here, in this fucking place which I hate, for these people I can't stand.

Except Cas. I'd die a million deaths for him, each more horrible than the last.

God forgive me, I will not let them take him now.

**CHAPTER ONE**

I was born here, Dad told me, beneath this smothering carpet of greens and grays. I was two weeks late, and caught Mom and Dad by surprise, and so the paramedics delivered me in the back of an ambulance on a lonely stretch of highway in Forks. The doctors at Forks Community hospital checked me out, and I was back at home before sundown.

I did not leave Forks until more than four years later, with my mother's death and my father's ensuing breakdown. Our house burned in the middle of the night, some electrical thing. Dad handed me Sammy and told me to run, to get out and not look back. That's the first thing I can remember, when I throw my mind back to my time in Forks.

Dad went back for Mom, but he couldn't get to her. She burned. And I sat on the hood of a cop car, holding Sammy, while Dad screamed and raged at the firefighters, and the paramedics, and himself, until he couldn't yell anymore. And then he put me and Sammy in the backseat of the Impala, and we never went back to Forks again.

We went a lot of places, mostly shitty ones. Hot places, with little humidity and less mercy. Arizona, New Mexico, Nevada, Southern California. We'd barely finish up a school year before Dad decided to pick us up and move us again.

I didn't mind. I couldn't remember Forks, but I knew what Dad was thinking: don't put down roots. Don't love anything you can't fit in the backseat of your car. Be ready to run. If the kids at one school didn't like me, I didn't give a shit. I'd be gone in nine months or so. If I made a friend, so what? They'd leave one way or another, it was probably better if I left first.

These are the things my father taught me. These are the things I remember.

There are other things I remember, things he taught me with more reluctance. How to hustle pool, how to win a fist fight, how to win a knife fight, how to open a beer with my teeth. Until I was eight or so, he tried to keep me out of it, his barfly, minimum wage life. I was the blessed eldest, the precious daughter, and he wanted me safe, protected. When I was eight, a man broke into our motel room looking for the money Dad had beat out of him at pool. Dad was half-asleep and mostly drunk and Sammy was four, but I knew where Dad hid his Colt .45.

So after I shot my first man, Dad figured that keeping me sheltered was more or less a lost cause. He taught me to shoot without hurting myself, how to fight, how to run, how to make money, how to spend money without raising suspicions. How to lie, cheat, and steal my way across the desert wastes of America.

So frankly, the situation I'm in now is pretty fucking baffling.

There's no way to say this that doesn't sound sort of fucked up, but I didn't really care that much when I got pregnant. I mean, yeah, I was a little worried about it, but more like, "Oh no, who will drive me home from the clinic?" and "How much will I have to hustle at pool in order to pay for this?" But I always knew what I was going to do. I was going to get to the clinic, come hell or high water, and they were going to vacuum the little fucker out of my uterus. I knew my life, and I knew what I wanted, and frankly, a kid did not figure into it.

I didn't have many friends in Phoenix, but I had a few, and one who I trusted enough to pick me up from the clinic: Renee. She was tiny and delicate, with a short attention span and a loud laugh, and an essentially decent personality. When I coaxed her away from her easel and paints long enough to tell her my problem, she teared up, threw her arms around me, and said, of course she'd pick me up and drive me there, and if I wanted to spend the night at her place after I certainly could.

The father's name was Garrett. I didn't know his last name. I'd met him in a Seven-Eleven one night, and we'd bonded briefly over a mutual love of Slim-Jims and Dr. Pepper. I saw him again four days later, while looking for my dad at one of his usual watering holes. That night Garrett brought me back to his place, and we had satisfying, if uninspired sex. We repeated this process over several weeks, until I got bored, and he got suspicious of my background (namely, was I really overage?).

So on a Tuesday in May, Renee drove me to Planned Parenthood, and I got an abortion. It kind of sucked, the whole place smelled like antiseptic, but it got the job done, and that night I went home to Renee's, groggy and sore and definitely not planning on returning to my dingy motel room for a few days.

This plan was derailed the next morning when I got a call from my Dad, asking why he'd gotten a call from Planned Parenthood following up on me.

I told him it was an STD check. He asked why I needed one of those. I said, because I've been fucking my way through Phoenix, you asshole.

Looking back, that was probably a mistake.

When I did return to the motel, Sam was sitting on the stoop outside. "Dude," he said, "Dude, Harper, I think Dad finally went batshit."

I snorted. "What, just now?"

The door flew open. My father, a huge bear of a man, stood there, looking me dead in the eye. "Inside, now."

I went inside. I was an obedient daughter.

The fight that followed was horrifying. He yelled for a while about my irresponsibility, and how I couldn't let myself be seduced, and how he'd kill any man that laid a finger on me, and I was lucky there weren't any permanent consequences.

That only made me angry, so I screamed that it hadn't been an STD check, it had been an abortion, and I hated him and wanted him to die.

That's when it got scary. He stopped talking, just looked at me with his big black eyes, and I felt sure he was going to strike me or spit at me or something. His hands were shaking. And then he walked out of the room.

And now I'm on a plane, flying into Port Angeles, because Dad doesn't know how to deal with me anymore. Because I could be perfect, if only I acted like a proper girl, or had the equipment to be considered a son. But I wanted to curse and drink and fight and be my father in all ways, and so here I am.

My mom had two brothers, one older and one younger. The older one was my father's idol, and he drank himself to death not long after Mom burned. Dad would have followed him to the grave if he didn't have me and Sammy to look out for. The younger one made something of himself, though - he's a doctor at Forks Community Hospital. Apparently he's a suitable role model for a young woman.

This is what I gathered, listening in on my Dad's hushed phone conversations with him. I didn't much care, except that I still wasn't sure what Dad would do with Sammy now that I wouldn't be looking after him anymore. Would he leave him with Pastor Jim in Los Angeles? Or send him to Bobby, up in Sioux Falls? Or maybe he'd get to stay with Dad forever. Maybe he would be the chosen one, now that I was persona non grata.

I wanted to set the damn motel room on fire and run. But I didn't. I stayed, silent and sullen, through the rest of the school year (going into my junior year, and I was already a fallen woman). And then I stayed through June, and I thought, maybe I'm safe. Maybe he's not sending me away. True, he stole all my IDs, and never let me go out to bars anymore. I spent a lot of time with Sammy that summer, never sure if the next day would be the last time I saw him for years.

But it was early in July when he came home with a battered set of luggage, and told me to pack up, because my flight was the next day. I did a little screaming and crying, but mostly I had already resigned myself to this. Sammy cried, and I think if he'd tried a little harder Dad might have broken. But he didn't, and Dad remained resolute, and the next day I left our motel before he got home from work. Sammy and I took the bus to the airport, and I boarded with my one real ID and a single suitcase worth of clothing. And close to two thousand dollars that I'd stolen from Dad before I left, but he'd figure that out the next time he dipped into his repair fund for the Impala.

"I don't want you to go," Sammy said. His voice was funny and thick, and I wanted to spare him the indignity of crying in public.

"I know," I said, and I pulled him in for a hug. He was mine, my brother, and I didn't want to leave him alone with our father. Dad never taught Sammy the things he taught me, about fighting and stealing and lying, and I didn't want Sammy to have to know those things now. I could keep him safe, if Dad would only let me. "Listen," I said, when Sammy quit sniffling, "Here's some money. Don't let Dad know you have it." I peeled five hundred dollars out of my pocket. "If shit gets too crazy, and I know damn well it will, you take a Greyhound up to Bobby's first thing. Don't wait for Dad, don't bail him out, don't spend this on the Impala. Just run. I'll come for you, I promise."

He nodded, eyes wide. "You gotta promise me the same thing," he said, very firmly. "If Uncle James is a weirdo or a perv, you'll run too, right?"

I smiled. "First thing. Well, first thing after I kill his skeevy ass."

And then he laughed, and then we cried, and I hugged him tight again. "I'll get you," I said firmly. "You have my email, you have my number. You need anything, just let me know."

"I don't want to bug you."

"You wouldn't be bugging me. You're mine. My brother. And I want you to know that somebody out there loves you, and would kill pretty much anything on two legs for you." He smiled, finally.

And then I left. I walked through security, and over to Gate 32, and I waited three hours for my flight - I'd left the house early to avoid Dad. I still pretty much wanted to burn him alive. That would really be poetic, I felt.

I landed in Seattle around eight, and took a puny-ass puddlejumper across Puget Sound to Port Angeles. Dr. James Campbell, my maternal uncle, would be meeting me there. I knew I'd met him before, but like all my time in Forks, the memory had dissolved in the wake of the fire. I'd heard a little of him from my dad, of course. He was tall and slim, and apparently a pretty-boy. He worked in the ER at Forks Hospital. He'd loved my mother, and me and Sammy. I knew nothing else.

The plane touched down on the one clearing in a vast sea of green. We were escorted off the tarmac and into a tiny airport. I didn't have any baggage checked, so I strode out the door towards the small waiting area in front.

There were maybe four or five people waiting. An older woman, a young man with dreadlocks and a nose ring, an elderly man, a guy in a suit - wait. I looked closer. Suit-guy and I made eye contact. He looked young, but he was tall, and fit, and surprisingly handsome. He was related to Mom, I reasoned, he could very well be a good-looking dude. I moved in, and Suit-guy closed the rest of the distance. "Harper?" he said, unsure.

"You got it," I said, trying to smile, or at least not scowl at him. He seemed nice. He had black hair that was just starting to gray at the temples, and dark eyes - the same dark eyes that Sammy had inherited from Mom.

"I'm your uncle James," he said, returning my smile.

"Yeah, I sorta figured," I said, eyebrow raised.

There was an extremely awkward hug. We left, chatting intermittently about the weather, and what Forks was like, and if my flight had been okay. His car was a new silver Volvo, and I couldn't suppress my smirk, which he caught.

"Is your dad still driving that Impala?"

I laughed. "Oh yeah. Still in showroom condition - that thing is his baby."

"I remember when he bought that thing," James said. "It was just before he starting dating your mom actually. She always said that if she'd gotten her hands on him a day sooner, she'd never have let him buy it."

I snorted. So Mom was an actual person, instead of a ghost Dad had been fleeing for twelve years. "No shit," I said, and then fell silent. Who knew how James felt about cursing. Half my vocabulary could be verboten here.

"Oh she hated that thing. Well, she hated the competition, I think." And then I had to laugh. This might not be completely horrible.

Home was a tri-level Victorian on a bluff above the Quileute, on a street with several similarly expensive-looking homes. When we pulled up, James refused to let me carry my bag in - the least he could do, he said. Inside was what they call "tasteful but elegant". It looked like a damn interior design magazine. If I'd known this was the end result, I'd have gotten knocked up years ago.

"Have you eaten yet?" James called, and I realized he'd disappeared into another room. I followed his voice into the kitchen, which was large and airy, painted in white and blue and gray.

I shrugged. "I had some food on the plane."

James grinned. "I'm not sending you to bed with a stomach full of airplane food. You a vegetarian?"

I laughed. "Hell no."

"Great, I've got beef stew. You don't mind leftovers?" God, he seemed genuinely concerned about this. How the hell had this guy ever put up with Dad as an in-law?

"It'll probably be the healthiest thing I've eaten in months," I said nonchalantly.

James didn't say anything, but he pulled a huge covered pot out of the fridge. Even cold, it smelled delicious, like meat and carrots and potatoes. And I didn't have to share a goddamned bite, I realized. I could probably even have seconds if I wanted.

"So, I wanted to talk to you about school," James said, once the pot was simmering on the stove. I tensed immediately. School was never my strong point - except for math and science. But two classes out of six didn't impress very many people. "Now, your dad sent some of your paperwork up - "

"I have paperwork?" I asked, astounded. "Dad kept track of my paperwork?" That was even more baffling. James gave me a strange look, and I fell quiet. The less he knew about life with Dad, the better, frankly.

"You seem very bright," he said, "But I know high school is a tough time for everyone, even people who don't move every school year." That was the fucking understatement of my year. "I thought I'd give you a choice. You can start at Forks High School in the fall, with your peers, or - " Get my GED? Go to trade school? Be homeschooled? "Or you can start at Peninsula College in Port Angeles instead. They've got this Running Start program where you earn your high school diploma and college credits at the same time."

I looked at him, suddenly wary. "That would be expensive, wouldn't it?"

He shrugged, stirring the stew. "The high school district covers tuition. And I'd be happy to pay for books or anything else you need."

Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. There was some catch here, and I was about to get boned big time. I could feel my palms start to sweat. "Um - I don't - "

James stepped away from the stew, and took a seat across the counter from me. "Listen, Harper. You're smart - you can't hide that. But whatever you were doing in Phoenix, it wasn't working for you. Whatever got you to Forks, you're here now, and I want to help you do more with your life than hustle pool and destroy your liver with booze."

Ah, here it was. A series of rules and restrictions. I could work with rules. And by "work with", I mean, completely ignore.

"Your dad basically wants me to lock you in your room and let you out for school and feedings. Now, I don't have any kids, but I figure that is the fastest possible way to alienate you." Great, my hands were sweaty _and_ shaking. This was going very well. And then James turned away for a moment, and turned back with a bowl of stew. It smelled even better hot, and I couldn't stop myself from inhaling deeply. He pushed the bowl towards me. "Eat. I'll go put your bags in your room. We can talk about this tomorrow."

James walked out of the room. As his footsteps faded away, I choked down the lump in my throat and put all my concentration into my first full meal in ages.


	2. ii: romans 10:9

A/N: Flush with excitement over the fact that people are actually reading this, here's another chapter!

**ii: romans 10:9**  
><em>don't see what the point is in event trying to fightlook for the bigger picture when i close my eyes real tight_

My room was a former guest bedroom, decorated in the same light blues and grays as the kitchen. It was pretty, almost, and I felt out of place in my ripped jeans and dirty boots. Still, I fell asleep almost instantly. Fucking airplanes. I hate those things.

I woke up to the sun hitting my face through the light curtains. It was probably too overcast here most of the time to warrant blackout shades.

There was no clock in my room, so I stumbled out of bed, unfresh and yawning. An ensuite bathroom? What the shit sort of weird-ass fairy tale had I stepped into? And Uncle James -

Uncle James was nice. And he seemed like a genuinely decent person. You lie, cheat, and steal enough, and you get a feel for who's a douche and who's not. But he seemed to care about my opinions, and my future, and my emotional health, and that was too fucking unbelievable.

These contemplations took me through a shower and a thorough tooth brushing. I'd had to buy one after the fight with Dad, since he took away my emergency mouthwash stash of Jack Daniels. Ke$ha could kiss my ass; I actually had woken up in a strange bathtub before - fortunately with both my kidneys.

Downstairs, James was eating a sandwich at the kitchen table. Guess I'd slept straight through till lunch. He smiled when I came in and I did my best to return it.

"Sleep well?" he asked.

I shrugged. "Jet lag." He nodded sympathetically.

I looked around the kitchen. Eleven forty five, it said on the clock. So I wasn't up too late. "Don't you have work or something?" It was a Friday, I knew that much.

"Took the day off," he said. "I wanted to get you settled in."

"You didn't have to-"

"It's fine," he said, smiling. "I wanted to."

I was suddenly very uncomfortable. I gestured at his sandwich. "Anymore of those left?"

"In the fridge," he said.

We ate quietly. After lunch he showed me to his study, where the computer was. "Use it whenever you want," he said, and I thanked him as much as I could manage.

First things first. I sat down to check my email - just two new messages, from Sam and Renee.

_Harper,_

_Dude, Dad totally lost it when he got back and you were gone. He went out a few minutes ago, and I probably won't see him again til Monday. I know you said not to use the cash you gave me, but I don't remember where the food money stash is._

_I miss you and I don't want you to be gone forever. I know you're eighteen in two years, but I'm stuck with Dad for six. And I can't even get knocked up or anything to get kicked out. This sucks._

_I know you hate him, and I hate him too sometimes, but can you call him or something next week? I'll let you know when he crawls back home or something._

_Love,_

_Sammy_

I had to blink back tears before I wrote out my response.

_Sammy-o_

_Food money is hidden in the fridge, taped inside the door. If it's not there, Dad may have found it, and you should dip into the Impala fund. Asshole won't even notice the money's gone._

_I meant what I said in the airport. If shit gets hairy, you go to Bobby's. He'll take care of you til I can grab you._

I paused there, unsure of what to say about James.

_Uncle James seems pretty decent, for an adult - not a skeeve or a lech as far as I can tell. If shit works out here, you might be able to stay with James in a year or two. Don't get your fucking hopes up, though. The way things are going right now, I keep expecting him to be a serial killer or something. Shit is weirdly good._

_I don't hate Dad. I mean, I do, but I also love him. He's just such an awful fucking person sometimes that I want to hit him. A lot. But he taught me some important shit, and if you listen up, he'll teach you good stuff too. Just ask me if you're confused about anything, and I'll set you straight. And I'll call when he sobers up, but if he fucking starts anything, I won't hold back._

_Also if you get knocked up I'll kill you._

_Love,_

_Harper_

That worked.

_Harper,_

_Girl, I miss you like crazy! Shit's weird here - Danny's been going around saying he got with you, but me and Jenna straightened his ass out. Don't worry, we got your back._

_Let me know how Seattle is! (Crazy hipsters, I bet.)_

_Love,_

_Renee_

Renee got a proportionally shorter response - neutral and couched in various slang and cuss words. There wasn't anything else for me online, so I signed off and took stock of my surroundings. The walls were covered in bookshelves here, and I took a few minutes to run my fingers across the spines of various books. There were textbooks, and thick journals, and I pulled one off the shelf only to discover it was a guide to various snakebites. Those images will fucking stick with you.

One shelf was very handily labeled "Fiction", and so I went there. Lots of classics - boring. Down at the bottom I discovered a Chuck Palahniuk I hadn't read before, and so I grabbed that. It didn't seem like it would be missed.

James came up after I'd been reading for a few minutes. I didn't know he was standing behind me, and jumped when he said my name. He had some errands to run in town, he said, and thought I might like to join him. Get the lay of the land and all. Not having anything better to do, I agreed, and then we were off.

There was more neutral small talk in the car. He pointed out the shit I'd need to know - bus stops, the drugstore, Forks High School. As we passed the school, a series of squat, brick buildings, he asked me again about my plans for next year.

"I don't want to pressure you; I just want to know so we can get you enrolled as soon as possible. Wherever you want to go." He was so nice my fucking teeth hurt.

"I think I'd like to try college," I said. "It's gotta be better than two more years of fucking high school."

He laughed. "You got that right. And Peninsula is a good school. I'm sure you'll do great."

We picked up some suits from the dry-cleaners, and then headed over to Newton's Sports Outfitters. Apparently I needed some gear. "The weather up here can be seriously terrible. You're lucky it's so nice today."

So I picked out some nondescript black rainwear, and we moved on. I was confused by his grocery store habits. He kept picking out fresh foods, fruits and vegetables, and chicken and fish, and fancy cheese that smelled awful but tasted delicious. I was almost longing for a frozen pizza or chicken fingers.

"Are you sure there's nothing you want?" he said, in that tone of concern that was beginning to grow a little annoying.

"I'm fine," I snapped. "Toss a frozen pizza at me and I'm fucking set for weeks." The concern didn't go away, and now in addition to my irritation I was feeling incredibly guilty. I sighed. "Seriously, I'm not picky."

We left the grocery store and headed back to the house. The silence wore from tense into neutral, and from there to companionable.

"Do you have your license?" James asked suddenly.

"Um - I had a few," I said, smirking. "Dad took them away before I came up here."

James shot me a strange look, and I realized he probably wasn't talking about fake ones. I coughed. "Yeah, actually," I said. "Newly minted Arizona driver here."

"Good," he said, nodding at something only he knew.

Back at the house I unpacked, and lounged, and watched TV, and went back on the computer to check if Sam or Renee had emailed me back. And then I napped, and rolled out of bed, and ate some sort of spicy chicken for dinner, and laughed at a few of James' jokes, but mostly I just thought about what the hell was going on with my life, and why I was here, and how I really, really wanted a drink, like, now.

A lot of drinks. All the fucking booze I could scrounge up.

So I told James I had a headache and I crawled into bed and waited, staring at the wall. I listened to him move around the house quietly for one hour... two hours... I heard his bedroom door close finally. A look at my cell phone told me it was just before midnight.

The house was so well remodeled that there wasn't so much as a squeak of the floorboards as I headed downstairs. I had shit to do.

I checked the kitchen first. Nothing resembling a liquor cabinet, no wine rack, not even some fucking cooking sherry in the cupboards. Next the living room. Fucking nothing. No mouthwash in the bathroom, no brandy in the study. The drugstore in town was open twenty-four hours. I could walk. Or - there was that fucking silver Volvo in front. My lip curled involuntarily. It sucked, but it had a half tank of gas. I was halfway to the door before I realized what I was missing. _Keys_.

Fuck and shit. I could hotwire the damn thing - but James would probably notice, and I wanted at least one more night in that comfy bed before I sent this all straight to hell. The keys had to be around here somewhere. But they weren't in the front hall, or the kitchen, or the garage. And then I quietly padded up the stairs and saw they weren't in the study either.

They were in the master bedroom, I thought. Probably on his dresser. Or in it. Cake-fucking crap. I couldn't do that, could I? Sneak into my newfound benefactor's bedroom while he slept, to steal his keys and his car, so that I could drive down to the drugstore and get that handle of vodka I so desperately needed? The plan was already forming in my mind. I'd have to creep in, but I had supreme confidence in my stealth skills. The keys would be on his dresser, or maybe his nightstand, but it wouldn't matter. He probably wasn't a light sleeper, having never looked out for kids or run from enemies. I'd head back to my room, grab my wallet, and be out the door within thirty seconds, tops. And then I could just skate on down to the drugstore and - Fuck and motherfucking shit. I didn't have any of my fucking fake IDs.

Apparently I screamed, just then. I wasn't really sure what was happening. I threw myself down the stairs, practically leaping to the base, and then I ran through the front door still screaming. _I don't want this_, I was thinking, _I don't want this, I don't want to be this person, I don't want to be here anymore_. I stopped at the sidewalk and collapsed on my knees. "I don't - I don't want to -" I was crying. I knew that much.

And then he was behind me, and he said, still groggy, "Harper, it's one in the morning. Are you okay?"

I couldn't speak, but I was trying to, I was trying to tell him to run, to get away, to send me away because I was going to ruin it all, because I just needed some vodka and maybe a good fight. "I'm going to - I'm going to burn - " I kept saying. "I'm going to burn everything." And you could barely understand what I was saying because of the sobbing and the snotty tears but I think he knew, I think he could see what I meant, and he said, "Harper, no one is going to burn. Come back inside the house." And I went, still crying, because I wanted it to be true, I wanted to be safe and calm and never afraid of anything or anyone, and I didn't want to ever hurt anyone ever again.

I fell asleep on the couch later, after James sat me down on the couch and asked me, very kindly, what the hell was going on. And so I explained about needing a drink really, really badly, and he explained that he didn't drink at all, on account of his older brother and all, and that he didn't think I needed to be drinking. And I tried to explain a little, about how angry I got, and how afraid, and how booze was pretty much the only thing that helped, but he just said that's what his brother said, and he's sure that what my dad said too. And I told him not to talk about my father like that, and he said, like what? And I started to cry again, because he didn't get it, didn't get what it was like to live out of motel rooms and cars and to have to go to school and hate everyone who spoke to you and not ever love anyone except Sammy and Dad, and I even hated Dad most of the time, and the only things that made me feel less dead were drinking and fighting and fucking and then I just cried for a really long time and James gave me a big hug and I fell asleep on the couch.

It was light out when I woke up. My eyes were sore and puffy and it took a few moments for me to get them opened and focused properly. Probably around ten, I surmised, from the sort of gold haze in the room. I lay there quietly, just breathing for a bit. Last night had actually happened. I actually had a batshit breakdown in James' front yard and now he was going to wash his hands of me. It was probably better that way. I could collect Sammy and hang out at Bobby's for a few months. That'd be good. I missed Bobby.

What I was doing wasn't really crying, not really. My throat wasn't lumpy or anything. My eyes were just sort of leaking, because I was so tired and all.

And then I heard footsteps in the kitchen, and I shut my eyes tight. I was asleep, I thought. I can't hear you there. After a second, I could hear James start to talk. He was on the phone, I realized. Was he calling the cops? Or - oh _fuck_, he was calling Dad, wasn't he. He was calling Dad and I was going to be locked in a fucking motel room in whatever shithole Dad was calling home these days. I'd run away, I decided. I'd go to Bobby's. Dad could try to pry me out, but there were a million places to hide on Bobby's property alone. He'd never find me.

And then I started to listen to their conversation in earnest.

-

**A/N:** So, from here on out, chapters will be titled with a Mountain Goats song - listen to This Year sometime; it's basically my ultimate "Harper's Childhood Was Fucked Up" song. Until I get a chance to update it, first chapter's song was Lion's Teeth.

Thanks to everyone who's read or reviewed so far. Next update on Friday, 8/6/11.


	3. iii: sax rohmer 1

**iii: sax rohmer #1**  
><em>and i am coming home to youwith my own blood in my mouth_

"No, no, I don't want -"

"No, John, listen - listen to me."

"You told me that Harper had gotten pregnant. You told me you were worried about her, and that you didn't think your nomadic lifestyle, whatever the hell that means, was good for a teenage girl. You know - Shut up, John, you know what you didn't tell me? That she has a drinking problem. Or that she's seriously depressed. Or that she's not used to eating three square meals a day, or, you know, not having to steal money or food to survive. Jesus fuck, John, have you been sleeping under bridges for the last twelve years?"

"Oh, in motels. Because that is exactly what two motherless children need."

"Yes, you did do a shitty job, and it's a miracle they've both survived this long!"

"No. No, no, no. I'm not trying to give her back; I'm telling you I wouldn't _let_ you take her back. I'm telling you right now that if you try to drag her back into that shitstorm you call a life, I'm calling the cops. And you know what; I should, because I don't even want to think what it's going to be like for Sam without her looking out for him."

"Bobby Singer - that's okay. I mean, he's a crotchety old drunk, but at least he has a goddamned house. And you know, a regular job."

"No, fuck you, John. I trusted you. I remember the man you were when you married my sister. I don't know who the fuck you are now. If you try to take out your guilt and your obsession on her kids, I swear to God I will flay you alive, do you hear me?"

And then he hung up the phone, and I stood there in the doorway and watched. I couldn't see his face but I could see the slump of his shoulders and the tremor in his hands as he passed them over his eyes. He turned then and I almost jumped when he made eye contact with me. "Harper. How long have you been there?"

I tried to say something witty, or at least full of curse words, but mostly what came out was "Long enough."

He gestured to the chair next to him, and I sat down. And I waited.

"How are you feeling?" James asked.

Confused. "Better."

He laughed, something short and hoarse. "Well, that's good." After a long moment, he said, "Okay, we need to talk."

This was it. If I wasn't going back to Dad, where was I going? Rehab? Although I doubted he'd spend that much money on me. Probably Bobby's. That was good. Sam might be there too. If I was back with him, I wouldn't even mind about school or anything.

"Harper?" Oh god he was talking to me.

"Um, sorry, I didn't - could you repeat that?"

"I asked if you were all right."

"I - I'm fine. I'm okay."

He looked so tired, but a smile crept onto his face. "I'm sure. Okay then, here's what's going on. You're staying with me."

"Wait, what?" This was definitely not what I expected. "What about Bobby's?"

James shook his head. "Nope. Sam is staying there for a while. Until your dad straightens himself out, or I bring Sam here."

I could feel the tears welling up and it just made me feel angry and humiliated. "What - why are you doing this? Why do you even care?"

"Because you're family."

"I don't -"

"I mean it. Think about Sam. I bet you'd do just about anything for him."

And I thought about it, and I thought about sharing a bed in a series of dingy motels for twelve years, and I thought about what I said at the airport when I was leaving. And I nodded my head.

"If Sam had kids, and he couldn't take care of them anymore, don't you think he'd want you to look out for them? Don't you think he'd want you to do the best job you could?"

And I could only nod, and think about Mom. She was a person, and somebody's sister. I bet she looked after James like I looked after Sammy.

"So I'm going to right by you. And I should have done this years ago, but I was too wrapped up in my own grief after your mom died, and then Sean died just when everything was getting, I don't know, easier, and I trusted - " His voice became thick, and I looked up to see that his eyes were too bright, too shiny for him to be okay. "I trusted your dad. When he married your mother, he was my best friend. He was a good man. And when she died, I think part of him died too. And the John that I knew, the honest, responsible, hardworking man - I think it was easier for him to forget that, than to be a good man without her in the world."

I couldn't stop crying. I couldn't. I didn't want to. I wanted to run away and I wanted to stay right here and I wanted Sammy and I wanted my dad, I wanted my daddy to hug me or my mom, but she was dead and he was as good as dead so I just cried. And then James hugged me and told me I'd be okay. And when I stopped crying he got me some tissues and I blew my nose, and when I looked at him his face was puffy and red, and I realized he'd been crying too.

"You look like shit," I said, and we both laughed, because we really needed a laugh.

He stole a tissue from me and blew his nose. "Ditto. It's a Campbell thing. Your mom was the most beautiful woman in the world, but when she cried, she looked like a swamp beast." I laughed again.

"Now," he said, seriously. "We do have some stuff to talk about." I nodded. "Drinking is not okay. I mean it. We can deal with dating and boys and that stuff on a case by case basis, but there is no alcohol allowed in this house." I grimaced, but nodded. As soon as I got a new ID, I could drink somewhere else. "And I don't want you sneaking out to do it. You have a drinking problem, Harper. I work in an ER; I see this stuff more often than you'd think. And you're going to see a psychiatrist, and probably a psychologist too."

My mouth went dry. "I don't - I don't think -"

"No," James said firmly. "It's a shrink or AA meetings. Actually, there are meetings at the hospital for children and relatives of alcoholics. Those may help too."

"A shrink is fine," I said. Lying to one person was easier than lying to a whole group.

"Good," he said. "And we should find something for you to do this summer, to keep you busy. Have you ever had a job before?"

"Ah," I started. "Hustling pool probably doesn't count, huh?"

James dropped his face into his hands and I shrunk back. _Christ, good timing Harper_, I thought. "No," he said, as he looked up and saw my stricken expression. "I'm not mad at you. Mostly mad at myself. And your dad," he amended.

"Join the club," I muttered, and all was right again.

"Would you want a job?" he asked. "I'm not sure if anywhere is hiring right now. The Newtons always need people at their store, if you don't mind working retail."

"I have no idea," I said honestly. "Can I -"

"Oh sure," he said. "Think about it. We'll keep you occupied one way or another. If nothing else, I bet I could find something for you to do at the hospital."

Now that did sound interesting. Blood and gore - all right! "Actually -"

He looked up, a little surprised. "Really?" I grinned. "That's very good. I'll see if there's anything suitable. Even if there are no jobs, I'm sure there's a volunteer position or something."

And then we talked some more, and then he made omelets. I hadn't had goat cheese before but it was pretty fucking tasty. He said if I liked that, he'd pick up jetost next week, which was Norwegian and apparently delicious. After that I went upstairs and took a nap, and then I checked my email again. And then I had dinner, and then I watched TV, and then I went to sleep, and I could feel the whole summer stretching out before me like a cat in the sun.

Sunday was pretty much the same, except without the crying or yelling. I still wanted a drink. James said that I should probably ignore that urge, and then he took me in the garage and let me take his bike out for a spin. I hadn't been on a bike in ages. I'd had one the year we lived in San Antonio, when I was twelve, but it got broken in a fight when I took on these little pricks who'd been hassling Sammy. They had older siblings too. It got a little hairy, but no one messed with my brother after that.

Monday morning he woke me up at eight with a knock on my door. "I'm leaving for work," he said. "Could you come by the hospital around one? I made you an appointment with one of the psychiatrists on staff. I think she'd be good for you."

My mouth tasted like death and bacteria, and I was pretty groggy. "Um. Okay."

James smirked. "I'll call you at eleven thirty. Make sure you're up."

"Got it." I mumbled. My face was already smushed back into the pillow.

But he called me at eleven, and I cursed and called him an awful liar. And he just laughed and told me to get out of bed, because I needed to catch the twelve o'clock bus next to the drugstore. So I rolled out of bed and stumbled into the bathroom, and I reflected idly that this could actually be a pretty okay life.

And Sammy. I'd have Sammy here soon. There were like, four fucking bedrooms in this house, not counting the study. Was James really okay with bringing Sammy here? Actually, he'd probably get along great with Sammy. Sammy was the good kid - everyone liked him. He did great in school, and at sports, and was always polite. I couldn't be trusted within fifty yards of a fancy party, but I made damn sure that Sammy said his pleases and thank yous, and knew how to act like a civilized person.

This could work, I thought. And when Sammy was here, James wouldn't be able to hover quite so much. I could probably get away for a drink or a hookup or a good old fashioned brawl. Once I obtained a new ID, I amended. And it would probably be better if I wasn't jonesing so bad that I tried to fuck up my cushy new life. I'd just get everything under control first, and then I could do as I pleased.

And so I showered, and had a bowl of granola. Jesus Christ, some of this healthy food was tasty, and some of it made me want to burn Trader Joes to the ground. First thing after this goddamned appointment, I decided, I was getting some fucking Captain Crunch.

It was July, and the sky was overcast, a light gray sheet drawn across the horizon. It felt wrong. I felt wrong. And on the fifteen minute walk from James' house to the bus stop, I privately vowed to get out of Forks as soon as possible. James was nice, but I didn't want to spend my life with trees and mountains and clouds hovering over my head. I could go back to Phoenix, I thought. Work as a mechanic. That wouldn't be too bad. Shit, if I actually got some college under my belt, that would be even better.

The bus was smelly and five minutes late, and did nothing to change my opinion of public transit in general. The route took us down the main street of Forks - just a stretch of highway with stoplights and stores on either side. I looked out for the landmarks James had pointed out to me previously - more bus stops, and the high school, and a general store - a fucking general store. This was worse than Sioux Falls. And then we stopped in front of the hospital, and I was off.

The hospital was short but sprawling, all white cement and glass. Very modern, or something. There was a red sign pointing the way to the ER on one side, but I figured I might want to go in the proper entrance. I looked haggard enough that I didn't want some over vigilant ER nurse to mistake me for a junkie. That actually had happened to Dad in L.A. once. Granted, I think he was actually looking for drugs, but still, I didn't want to deal with any attitude.

So I went in the front door, and was assaulted by the scent of antiseptic. I could smell something sweet and cloying underneath it, and made an effort not to breathe through my nose for the duration. A young man at the front desk looked up at me expectantly.

"Hi, welcome to Forks Community Hospital," he said cheerily. His nametag said Jared. "Can I help you find anything?"

"Um." I didn't actually know where James wanted me to meet him. "I'm supposed to meet -" And I probably couldn't just ask for 'James' either. "-Doctor Campbell."

"Do you have an appointment?" Jared asked, eyes flicking down to his computer.

"Sort of a lunch meeting," I hazarded. "I'm not sure where -"

"Harper!" I turned. James was striding down the hall.

"Hey, um - " I blinked. "You've got something on -"

He looked down at the stain on his scrubs. "It's not blood," he said, laughing. "For once. Listen, I just have to change really quick and then we can grab something to eat before your appointment."

"Fine by me."

"Actually -" he looked at his watch, and then pulled a wallet out of his lab coat. "Take twenty. The cafeteria's down that way. I'll be there in ten."

He was there in seven. I hadn't even made it through the line at the register.

"That's all you're getting?" he asked, gesturing at my meal - two nutrition bars and a strawberry smoothie.

I shrugged. "Lunch of champions. I had a bowl of granola before I left."

James pulled a salad out for himself and was back in line to pay for the whole bunch. I started to give him back the twenty. "Keep it," he said. "We'll call it your allowance."

I shoved the twenty back in my pocket. It'd be good not to have to dip into Dad's- into the money I had liberated from Dad.

And so I scarfed down the nutrition bars while James ate his salad. They weren't very good, but they were filling. Halfway through the second one, I realized he was eyeballing me weirdly. "What?" I asked. "I got something on my face?"

"Oh no," he said idly. Too idly. My eyes narrowed. "You can get something else, if you're still hungry."

I deliberately, slowly finished my nutrition bar. "I'm good," I said. Sort of. I don't think I could've held down any food at that point, not when I was looking forward to my appointment.

James simply shrugged. A nurse came by to ask him something, and suddenly I was an object of great attention. Apparently he'd been talking about me - his "favorite niece". Dammit, I was his only niece. I said as much, and the small group of people who'd gathered laughed in unison. There was Becky, the nurse, and Donny and Lila, nurses' aides, and Jill was an EMT, and Chuck was a medical scribe, and they all worked in the ER, and they all had heard about me. I stayed quiet, mostly, but I shook hands, and smiled, and when they asked how I liked Forks, I said that the weather was definitely a change from Phoenix, and I was enjoying myself very much.

And then James said we had to be going, and I waved back at the gaggle as we left.

"Well, they seem friendly," I said dryly

James laughed. "You're big news. There hasn't been this much excitement since Dr. Cullen moved here two years ago."

"Christ, small towns. I don't know how you deal."

We approached a sign announcing the entrance to the psychiatry department. I felt my hands start to shake and my shoulders tensed automatically.

"You all right?" James asked.

"Fine," I muttered distractedly. "Let's do this."

It was probably a good thing that I'd declared my intent before stepping into the psychiatry waiting room, because the place was so fucking cheery I wanted to barf. I could feel the blind panic sweeping out from my gut, and I froze in place. The receptionist looked up, and smiled at James.

"Hey, Jessica," he said, guiding me forward. Fortunately there was no one else in the waiting room. "One o'clock for Dr. Stone?"

There was a brief clicking of her keyboard. "Harper Winchester. Do you have - " James pulled a credit card out of his wallet, and I felt a sudden sinking in my stomach. "Thank you." She swiped the card and I did my best not to look at the receipt. "The doctor will be with you in a moment. Just have a seat."

James started to nudge me towards an empty chair. I shook his hand off. "I don't - I don't think - Maybe I should just skip this." He looked at me with such concern and I hated it. "Yeah, I should definitely -"

"Harper?" The door had opened. Doctor Stone was a short African-American woman with a soft smile and soft voice.

My mouth went dry. "I can't-"

"Harper," James said firmly. "Let's go."

And he nudged me forwards again into the doctor's office.

**A/N:** Okay, a little business to clear up.

This is a Supernatural/Twilight story, and more than anything else it is a fusion of the two. It will be primarily focused on the Supernatural side of things, but I couldn't in good conscience use the setting, half the plot, and several characters from Twilight without giving it due credit. Yes, the Twilight characters will be around, they will be making more appearances later, and I'm considering a future plot where they are more integral BUT:

This is not a story about Edward and Bella, or Jacob and Bella (though they will PROBABLY all show up at some point). The story will be about Harper and Sam and the Supernatural characters, or at least Anno Mundi's version of them (also yes, Harper is a female _reworking_of Dean).

And IF the Twilight kids do show up, I don't know yet who will be whose true love. These things are complicated, only to be decided when I get drunk and write the requisite chapters. Maybe Edward and the Cullens won't be around at all. Maybe it'll just be Jacob and Bella and Leah, and they'll be some horribly happy polyamorous threesome who show Harper the importance of stable personal relationships.

**To the people I haven't alienated yet:** Thanks for sticking around. If you wrote asking about Twilight pairings, sorry if you've been disappointed. I hope you find something in the story to interest you, because I do appreciate you reading this far. And thanks to everyone else reading, because you might be the only people I have left after this note.

Much love (despite all the snarkiness) 3. Next update on Friday, 8/12/11.


	4. iv: psalms 40:2

iv: psalms 40:2  
><em>lord send me a mechanicif i'm not beyond repair_

Doctor Stone's office was quiet and rather spacious. I'd envisioned it as being sort of full of clutter and papers, but it was very tidy, with room for a large desk, and a two-seater, and a couch across the room from that, and bookshelves, and -

"Why don't you have a seat, Harper?" Dr. Stone had moved around to the other side of her desk. I sat down warily on one end of the two-seater. It was nice - dark gray and soft without having to worry that it'd eat me. "Now, how are you?"

I blinked. "Um. Okay, I guess."

She nodded. "I hear you're new to Forks."

I flushed. "Yeah, you and everyone else."

"It'll pass in time. I couldn't get a moment's peace when I moved here last summer. What's it like living with your uncle? I understand you haven't seen him in a long time."

That was it. I crossed my arms under my chest. "It's fine. Listen, he's probably told you everything already, so why don't you just write something down on your little notepad, and prescribe me some drugs. Then I can pretend to take them, and you can pretend to be 'satisfied with my progress'."

Dr. Stone sighed, and then leaned back in her chair. "Harper, I don't like to prescribe to teenagers unless it's truly necessary. Your brain chemistry is changing enough as it is without me fiddling around. And James has shared some details of your situation with me, but it's more important that I hear your perspective."

I snorted. "What, he told you that I'm some hot mess? That Daddy didn't love me enough, and now I drink and fuck and curse? Do they make a pill for that?"

"Is that how you see yourself?"

"Yes. No - I don't - I don't fucking know. It doesn't matter."

"I think it matters quite a lot."

"What, my fragile self-esteem?" I sneered. "Yeah, because so many people give a shit."

"Is there anyone you think that does care about your feelings?"

I stopped. "Um. Sammy. My little brother. And... maybe James. I don't know. He sure as hell bugs the shit out of me, but I think - I think he's trying."

"I think he's trying very hard," Dr. Stone said gently. "I think he does care about you a lot."

"Well why?" I cried, frustrated. "I'm some stupid chick who got knocked up and kicked out by her dad, and I get that we're family, but seriously. My dad is family, and he never gave this much of a shit about me. He never - " And then I suddenly couldn't catch my breath, and the words started coming out in gasps. "He never - fuck it - I just - he never took care of me. Or Sammy. I have to - I have to take care of Sammy."

"Your dad doesn't take care of him?"

"He can't," I said. My vision was starting to blur. "He won't. He won't do anything. I have to buy the groceries and make money and make sure Sammy gets his homework done and I have to - I have to be okay. I can't - I have to be okay."

"Whoa, okay Harper. Take a deep breath." She handed a box of tissues to me and I realized I was crying.

"Fuck," I said, after I caught my breath and finished blowing my nose. I looked up. Dr. Stone was still watching me, face calm and eyes quiet. "So now do I get pills?"

She smiled and I saw something sad creep across her face. "No, no pills."

"Well, how crazy am I, if I'm not crazy enough for pills?"

"I wouldn't call you crazy at all. I'd say you're a capable young woman who's spent most of her life being strong, stronger than she should have to be. And now that you're safe, now that you have a stable home and someone to take care of you, you don't know what to do with yourself."

I shrugged, and looked down at my hands. "It's better than being locked in a motel room."

"But there you had your brother, didn't you?" I felt myself tearing up again. Fuck this _so hard_.

"Someone needed to look out for him," I said resolutely.

"Of course," she said. "But that should have been your dad."

"He couldn't - since my mom died, he hasn't been okay. He gets - it's hard for him to - to do stuff. To be normal."

"To take care of you."

"I don't - I don't want to." Oh fuck, I didn't want to cry again.

"Harper, it's okay. We don't have to talk about it anymore."

I sniffled. Christ, this was embarrassing. "So, no pills? For real? What, do I get electroshock therapy or something instead?"

Dr. Stone smiled again. "No, nothing like that. I am going to refer you to a psychologist, though."

"Great," I muttered.

"Her name is Olivia Gonzales, and she does a lot of work with young adults and teenagers. I think you'll like her." She turned to her computer briefly and clicked a few keys. "Are you free later this Thursday? Looks like she has a slot open at nine a.m."

I shrugged. "My calendar is free and clear."

"All right, you're booked." She wrote the date and time down on a little business card for Forks Community Hospital Mental Health Services. "My number is on there too, in case you need to contact me again."

I looked up from the card. "What, no follow-up?"

"Probably not. If Dr. Gonzales feels medication would be helpful, she may refer you back to me. If so, we'd meet more regularly. But honestly," she leaned in a little closer. "I think once you settle in here, get used to living with James, start work or school - I think you'll feel a lot better."

I blinked. "Oh. Gotcha. Cool." I started to stand.

"One more thing," Dr. Stone said as she stood too. "Make sure you bring up your drinking with Dr. Gonzales. She'll definitely need to know about that."

I flushed again. "Drinking. Got it. I haven't -"

"Had any since you got here, and probably none since your dad locked you in that motel room. I figured. You're probably not physically dependent, but I bet there's a part of your mind that's just screaming for a drink right now."

I scowled. "Maybe."

"That's the part that will get you into trouble." And then she smiled wide, and I finally understood what people mean when they talk about smiles that light up rooms. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Harper." She offered me her hand, and I took it.

"Ditto," I said, and I had to smile back. She walked me to the door.

When we appeared at the door, James jumped up. I hadn't thought he'd be waiting.

"Harper," he started to say, and then stopped. "Doctor Stone," he said then, smiling.

"For the last time, James, call me Grace."

"Well, thank you so much, Grace. You doing all right there, Harper?" I realized I had probably regressed into red-and-puffy status.

"Super peachy keen. Thanks Doc," I said to Dr. Stone.

"You can call me Grace as well. I figure if you do it, he's more likely to stick with it." Doctor - Grace smiled at James, and I realized he was blushing. Holy shit, I thought, James has got it for my shrink. I had to smirk at him then.

We hustled out of there pretty quick after that. "When's the next bus?" I inquired.

"Actually, I thought I'd drive you."

I snorted. "Don't you ever work?"

James shrugged. "Dr. Cullen traded shifts with me for Friday. Apparently he wants to take his family fishing or something."

I couldn't suppress the curling of my lip. "How cute."

He nudged at my shoulder. "He's nice. And his wife is always baking these super tasty cookies and cakes for the ER. Even makes a gluten free batch for Chuck."

"Like I said. Cute."

"And they have five adopted children, all of whom are in their teens, and they all dress up in identical sweaters for their Christmas cards, and they do tons of charity work-"

"Gag me with a frikkin' spoon," I finally spat out. "And I bet their shit don't stink, either."

James laughed. "I'm mostly joking. Well, about the Christmas cards, at least. They're pretty Stepford, but as long as I have free cookies and someone to cover my shifts, I'm not complaining." I reflected that if I had chosen to go to Forks High, he might be talking about my future classmates. I held back a shudder. As we left through the front lobby, Jared waved at James, and I thought idly that he'd have to get through Grace first.

"You hungry?" James asked, and I realized I was fucking starved.

"Burgers," I said firmly. "I need a burger. With lots of fucking cheese."

He laughed, and we left, and I got my goddamned burger.

I checked my email when we got home - maybe Sammy had written me back. Lo and behold, he had.

_Harper,_

_I don't know what's going on. When I woke up on Saturday Dad was yelling at someone on the phone, and when he hung up he cried, dude, he cried. And then he made me pack up all our stuff and we drove straight to Bobby's house - we only stopped once for gas. And then he just dropped me off in Bobby's yard and drove off! Bobby says he'll be back soon but he doesn't say it like he normally does, and he fixed up a room for me instead of just making me sleep on the couch, which is nice, but I think that means I'm stuck here for a while._

_But if Dad's not around, maybe you could come out and visit or something, because I miss you like crazy (and I know it's only been like, four days, but seriously, this bites). At least call me._

_Love,  
>Sammy<em>

I didn't reply, just went downstairs to find James. He was loading the dishwasher in the kitchen, and turned around when I came in. "What's up?"

"Dad left Sam at Bobby's," I said, unsure of what the reaction might be.

Mixed, as it turned out. James sighed, and let his shoulders slump down. "That's something, I guess."

"And - "And now I hesitated. "And Sammy wanted to know if I could come out and visit him." James just looked at me, and my stomach dropped. "Or not. Whatever, it doesn't matter. I'll just - " Run away to see my brother.

"Harper. I don't think it's a good idea for you to go out there so soon-"

"Yeah, I know," I muttered.

"But-" he said, and I looked up from my feet. "Maybe Sam could come out here. I told you I wanted him here for the school year. He could move in a little earlier."

I smiled. I couldn't help myself. "That'd be pretty fucking rad."

James grinned. "I thought you might feel that way. But I want to get you settled in first, and Sam will be fine at Bobby's for a couple of weeks."

"Does - Which room does he get?"

"Which one do you think he'd like?"

This was going to be totally sweet. "Can I, like -" A thought occurred to me. "He's going to need rain stuff too. I don't - I can pay for his stuff. And I can pay you back for mine if -"

James held up a hand. "Harper. Seriously. Don't worry about it. I'm not exactly strapped for cash."

"Yeah, but I'm all fucked up in the head, and I saw the receipt from -"

"Harper. I mean it. Don't worry." He smiled.

"Oh. Okay. Cool, I guess." I'd figure out something. I'd shove the money in his desk drawer and pretend I had nothing to do with it.

"Also." Oh fuck what now. "Tomorrow I'm working three to three. I thought I'd swing by the district office and get your school stuff taken care of before then."

"Um. Okay. Do I need to register for classes or anything?"

He waved me off. "Not til I get you set up with the high school. Then I can take you by the college and get your classes all worked out."

"Well. Got it. I'm just gonna - " I gestured upstairs.

"Yeah, get out of here," James said, and I did.

The next day was lazy as hell. I didn't get up til one, only to discover that he'd already left. I emailed Sammy back, to tell him I couldn't come out to visit, but I had something even better in the works, so he better keep his nose clean or I'd kick his ass. Nothing on TV - James apparently didn't believe in big cable packages, so I had a mere eighty to choose from. Finally I gave up and dragged the bike out of the garage.

It was cloudy (again). I contemplated the drugstore again - maybe they didn't card. But no, they were part of some big national chain - they tended to be uptight about that shit. Maybe the general store, I thought idly.

I noticed the thrift store downtown, and realized I needed more clothes. At least an unripped pair of jeans. And possibly some shirts without band logos on them. That's what I'd do with my 'allowance', I decided.

The thrift store smelled like thrift stores do: not bad, but old and dry. They had a huge section of used books - Sammy would love that. I beelined for the Men's section first, and sure enough, there were plenty of jeans that fit my exacting specifications: clean, dark, and unripped. Next, shirts. I grabbed a few oversized plaids from the Men's and was combing through Women's when a commotion at the front of the store caught my eye.

A tiny girl was carrying a truly enormous pile of clothing - she dropped them on the counter, and her chirping voice carried back towards me.

"Hi, I have some clothes to donate."

I snorted. Figuring, what the hell, I wasn't going to find anything better, I made my way to the register to watch the pixie unload her donations. As I approached, I realized I was wrong about her age - her features were delicate but obviously adult. She was just short - barely brushing five feet, by my guess. I lined up behind her - and then was startled when a young man carrying an equally gigantic pile of clothing moved from behind me to stand next to her.

"Thank you Jasper!" she said cheerily, before turning back to the sales associate. "Now, a lot of these are designer - as usual - so please be careful!" I rolled my eyes. Christ deliver me from idiots and the bourgeois. And god, her - companion? boyfriend? gay BFF? Whatever he was, he had some seriously horrifying hair.

To my immense relief, a saleswoman came out of the back office and opened another register - but just as I stepped out of line to go to her, yet another douche with a pile of clothes swooped my spot. Not even acknowledging my presence, he turned to the short chick. "That's everything, Alice. Now, if you -"

"Excuse me," I said. I would be polite, I swore to myself. I would be polite, and avoid cursing, and I would _not_ punch this asshole's face in. "I was next in line."

The guy finally made eye contact with me. He was handsome, in a weirdly chiseled way, and his eyes were a bright gold. "My apologies," he said smoothly. "I didn't mean to inconvenience you." And then, practically one handed, he swept the clothes over to the next counter, and it joined Alice and Jasper's pile.

"Thanks a ton," I said drily. He was doing me _such_ a favor, after all.

My purchase was done quickly. As I was leaving, I shared a brief look of sympathy with the other saleswoman - Alice had some very particular instructions about her donations. They were, after all, couture.

When I stepped outside, I tensed automatically when I saw a silver Volvo in the parking lot. It took a second for me to realize it wasn't James. And actually, when I squinted, I could see that it was thrift store Douchebag #3 sitting in the driver's seat, waiting for his asshole friends to emerge. I scowled. Their type was the same in Phoenix or Sioux Falls or Forks. And so I put on my sunglasses, hopped on my bike, and rode back to James' house thinking about fire.

A/N: And here we have the first appearance of the Cullen clan. A warning, their appearances will not get much longer or more flattering. I just don't have it in me :/

Thanks for your patience! This weekend was a little crazy. Next update on 08/19/11.


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